Whisper of the End

by Held, Maximian

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Foreword

  Chapter I - Caius

  Chapter II – Kearika

  Chapter III - Caius

  Chapter IV - Kearika

  Chapter V - Kearika

  Chapter VI - Caius

  Chapter VII - Kearika

  Chapter VIII - Kearika

  Chapter IX - Caius

  Chapter X - Kearika

  Chapter XI - Kearika

  Chapter XII - Caius

  Chapter XIII - Caius

  Chapter XIV - Kearika

  Chapter XV - Kearika

  Chapter XVI - Caius

  Chapter XVII - Kearika

  Chapter XVIII - Caius

  Chapter XIX - Kearika

  Chapter XX - Kearika

  Chapter XXI - Caius

  Chapter XXII - Caius

  Chapter XXIII - Kearika

  Chapter XXIV - Caius

  Chapter XXV - Kearika

  Chapter XXVI - Caius

  Chapter XXVII - Caius

  Chapter XXVIII - Kearika

  Chapter XXIX - Caius

  Chapter XXX - Kearika

  Chapter XXXI - Caius

  Copyright

  Whisper of the End by Maximian Held Published

  © 2017 Maximian Held

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permissions contact: help.wote@gmail.com

  Cover by Diego "Novanim" Zúñiga.

  Acknowledgements

  I’m grateful to everyone who helped on the adventure that was writing this book. Without the support of my friends and family I never would have started, let alone finished it. My Mother, Michelle Dvorak, kept me motivated when I was unsure of my writing with her frank, unfiltered views and commentary. My Father, Aaron Held, prodded me into stepping up my game and dedicating myself to writing at the highest level that I could. Without the two of them I’d still be wallowing around with half of a book that looked like it was written by an overly ambitious sixth grader.

  Good friends are invaluable, and I’m lucky to have so many of them. Eddie Feller, without your input this story would have been unfocused and, honestly, worse off. You helped bring Mendalde & Karl to life, saving them from being throw away characters. The early days were when my style was at its worst, to the point that it would drive any respectable english professor to madness, but you stuck with me Jack Martin. Austin Card was the first to tackle the task of reading the whole thing from cover to cover, he did so in record time and caught a bunch of rather embarrassing errors. I’m especially lucky that Nicholas Dessalet didn’t stop talking to me after days of picking his brain to make sure that a certain scene came across just right.

  I’d like to thank Diego "Novanim" Zúñiga, the talented artist behind the cover art. His vision and skill helps to bring Caius & Kearika to life. He has an online portfolio at www.novanimart.com, please check it out.

  Finally, thank you Christina Ling. Without you this book would never have existed, and I’m glad we could turn waiting in the hospital into something this exciting. You’ve pushed for me to write, and you’re always the first to read my work. Thank you for all your hard work, thoughts and letting me grill you even more than I did Nick.

  Foreword

  Whisper of the End opens in the Cratertop Mountains of Duras. Our protagonists, Caius and Kearika are an unknown distance along their journey back to the Tower. Caius is looking for answers and Kearika is there to keep him alive. It’s difficult to tell if our two protagonists are friends or enemies! It soon becomes apparent whose side each is on as their first enemies do not take long to materialize. Like all captivating fantasy novels, the cast of antagonists rolls out throughout the story. The intricate details about each character as they are introduced into the world of Duras kept me wrapped up in this book. When you believe you know each character and their mission, the author has you guessing again. Read on you may find that someone you were sure was a foe, is really in a position to help.

  As the author’s mother, you may rightly expect that my foreword is going to be a continuous glowing review of my son’s creativity. As an author myself, I have great respect for anyone who devotes themselves to producing a book. I know the fear behind the hope that readers will enjoy your hard work. As a first-time author, we’re told that the most we can hope for is to possibly break even in book writing and cover our costs. Finally, if the stars shine upon us, we achieve the good fortune of hitting it with a best seller!

  This book truly is that good and has the potential to be a best seller. When all the people mentioned in the acknowledgement section were proofreading the first quarter of Whisper of the End, many would ask me if I was praising the book because my son wrote it. My answer was a consistent and a confident, “No.” Max was always a good writer. He began writing poetry in primary school and moved on to writing blog posts. Although this is his first full length novel, his creation reflects his love for reading. He is not just a science fiction or fantasy fan. He is pursuing a law degree at Temple University in Philadelphia. He enjoys reading history books and legal briefs, card games, and Dungeons & Dragons.

  Like many successful authors, he is an avid reader. As a child, Max devoured books before we got them home from the store. To save money, I used to sit with him at Barnes & Noble Bookseller and let him read the shorter books so we could put them back on the shelf when he was finished. I’d buy the longer books with the hope that they would at least last a few days before he finished them.

  It is the author’s combination of passions weaved throughout this book that makes it worth reading. A typical fantasy book follows a main character and their sidekick as they journey along a wandering path. The protagonist is constantly thrown off-course by a myriad of magical beings and creatures. Whisper of the End is not a string of pub conversation and travel, interspersed with fiery mage fight-scenes. Sure, our main character Caius throws magic. However, he and his companion Kearika physically fight more than the typical fantasy protagonists do. Kearika has generations of family history established in lore and battle. Caius spends much of his time in living in his own head which is where our other characters are developed.

  We see that as our story develops, characters who once fought each other, must work together if they have any hope of solving the forces that are at work altering the world they live in. Can Caius understand what has happened to the other mages? Is there anyone he can really trust? Although I understand more about Duras and the state it is currently in, the story left me with many questions, I look forward to next book for the answers!

  ~Michelle Dvorak

  Chapter I - Caius

  Duras - Cratertop Mountains

  12th of Herras, 1873 MD

  “This is pointless, those stupid townsfolk are just going to find another way to get themselves killed.” Kearika huffs, shivering as she pulls her fur cloak tighter around herself. “Why aren’t you freezing your pale hide off in these cursed winds?”

  You would think after all this time, she would know already. I think she just likes having something to gripe about.

  “I am not freezing because, unlike you, I have the forces of the universe at my beck and call. I simply asked this brisk wind to leave me out of its wintery clutches. Maybe if you try asking politely, the wind will even listen to an unwashed barbarian like yourself!” I reply, rubbing my hands together under my cloak.

  Even with the spell woven into this, it is still freezing this high up. I have never been so cold before.

  A strong gust of wind makes the fire gutter, throwing our shadows crazily across the snow. Soon the sun woul
d set, which would bring even colder temperatures with the darkness. Still, it’s vaguely comforting just to sit around the feeble flames, even if it wasn’t keeping us all that warm.

  “Unwashed? Unwashed! I may not be from that dump of a city like you are, where everyone bathes after every meal but I take care of myself. You should know, for something 'unwashed' you certainly seem to enjoy it!” Her leer undercuts the venom in her tart reply. My cheeks burn, the snow-covered mountains behind her are suddenly fascinating, I can’t help but look at them instead.

  Gods take me! Why does she have to be so crude? Though, despite her lack of tact, her brusqueness does have its…advantages.

  I don't notice the soft paff paff of her boots in the snow as she saunters over, and only when she eclipses the fire do I realize how close she is. The wildly dancing flames grant flickering life to the paint slathered all over her face, casting shadows that her eyes disappear into. Crimson lines cover her face with a bestial mask, one of bloodlust and unrestrained murder. Kearika always wore some sort of design on her face, even when we’re in more civilized areas.

  I might not have heard her walk over, but the snick of steel sliding across leather is as clear as a bell even in this storm. Six inches of glittering steel fills her left hand, pointing unwaveringly at my throat.

  “Kearika, what are you doing? I am sorry! I did not mean to insult you! Here have my cloak, it will keep you warm!” I stammer, I have never been much of a fighter. I prefer the academics of magic to the keen realities of cold steel. Kearika and I are constantly out running jobs for the Tower, but she handles most of the physical work.

  I know the look in her eyes, the same look the hunter gives their trapped prey. Kearika is too close for me to do anything, she knows my arcane movements too well. If I try anything there’d be a new and unwanted smile right across my throat. What could be making her do this? Could it be another mage, or whatever is up in these mountains we are supposed to track down? I cannot believe I did not notice something taking her mind! Kearika’s hand draws back, and I scrunch my eyes shut, not wanting to see it coming.

  Chapter II – Kearika

  Duras - Cratertop Mountains

  13th of Herras, 1873 MD

  The wind howls against the skin of my tent, icy fingers prying at the seams, seeking to rob us of our vital heat. What a nice heat it is, a shame he’s still out cold. I can’t help but giggle, which threatens to boil over into full blown laughter as I think about Caius’s reaction when he wakes. He’s barely moved since I scared him last night, maybe I went a bit far? He’d gotten that panicked look of his, right before he fainted. I’d carried him into my tent after he fell into the snow.

  My “barbaric” tent, made of stitched hides and lined with the fur of my first fiendcat. Over a decade later the fur still has that beautiful cobalt glimmer and held on to heat like a jealous lover. Years of use has softened the fur, it’s like laying on a warm cloud, instead of the bed of needles it used to feel like. I wonder what Caius will notice first? How “crude” his surroundings are, or his lack of clothing? I’d bundled his robes at one end of my tent, which could only be considered “spacious” if you’re a five-foot-tall, scrawny wretch like Caius. At my size, all six hard-muscled feet, my tent might be considered “cramped.”

  There just isn’t a way to fit two people in this tent without abandoning modesty. The same modesty I’d abandoned with the fervor of a sinner repenting on his deathbed. Which is why my cloak, armor (also covered in furs) and tunic are seeing use as a pillow for us to rest on. Well, that isn’t entirely true. I’m using them as a pillow, and Caius is using me as a pillow instead. Given our height differences, he’s in for a “rude” awakening.

  Only a spineless southerner would consider waking up like this “rude.” Culture is no good if it means waking up with a beautiful maiden is “inappropriate” or “unbecoming!”

  The idea of me being a maiden is too much, my stomach starts to shake from the pent-up laughter. Which promptly wakes up Caius, who’s eyes open slowly as he drinks in his unfamiliar surroundings.

  “Where am I? What happened to you last night?” The words rasp out of his dry throat. He’s still blinking sleepily, squinting with those mesmerizing violet eyes of his, the eyes of a mage.

  My people have legends about those eyes, stories of how they can steal your soul. Tales of peerless war chiefs brought low after just one look at them. After seeing them up close I can see why my ancestors would think that they held such great power. They’re wrong of course, a mage’s hands, lips and mind are by far his most dangerous weapon. A mage with his lovely purple eyes plucked out is just as dangerous as one who could see.

  Personally, I’ve always thought the tales about eyes that made “our women” run into the arms of those mewling Southerners is just an attempt to cover up bruised egos. I’ve had plenty of Southerners tell me my own blue eyes are the most interesting thing they’d ever seen. Something about the crimson streaks seems to just draw them in. All except one, who always seems to be doing his best to ignore me. I have you now though, he’d actually have to be blind not to get it!

  Like the sun rising over this frigid mountain, dawning comprehension illuminates his face. Slowly, like a rabbit in the eyes of a hawk he takes in the details of our surroundings. Even slower his eyes wander down the walls of the tent to me, and my lack of clothing.

  "Red does such interesting things to your face, it looks good with those lovely eyes of yours." I purr. A choking noise is all that comes out of him, and his discomfort makes me grin.

  "What is it Caius? Cat got your tongue?" I ask, struggling not to laugh too hard at him.

  Like a frightened doe, he must be handled gently.

  "I...uh...this is not what it looks like Kearika!" He chokes out, lifting himself off me and hunting around for his robes.

  "Oh, I don't know Caius, what does it look like to you? It looks like you’ve finally decided to give in to my feminine wiles." I say, my huge grin only disconcerting him more.

  "Though, if it doesn't look like that's what happened, we could always make it what it looks like." I purr, he pauses halfway through pulling his robe on

  "No! Th-that is quite alright, it would not be proper! We do not know each other that way.” He says, his voice muffled by his robe.

  "Then why don't you take this opportunity to get to know me? We could get to know each other for hours!" I try to wrap my arms around him, to stop him from getting away.

  He starts to struggle, but mages aren’t exactly known for their physical strength. You're in my arena now, physicality is where I excel! That happy train of thought is interrupted abruptly by an elbow slamming into my nose. Reeling in pain I let Caius go, he stuffs himself into his robe and scrambles out of my tent.

  "Don't think you're getting away that easily! I am Kearika of the Gelu Tribe, Hunter of Man and Beast, and I have never known defeat!" I shout as I burst from my tent, right into a wall of glimmering steel.

  Chapter III - Caius

  Duras - Cratertop Mountains

  13th of Herras, 1873 MD

  "...and I have never known defeat!" Kearika's excited cry rises in volume as she exits her tent. I give her a sidelong glance

  "So glad you could us." I say, the obvious danger keeping the stammer out of my voice. A half dozen men arrayed in front of us in a semicircle definitely fits the bill for "danger." How did I not sense them? My magic should have alerted me to their presence, and if they had a mage with them I should have sensed that too.

  Each of them is swaddled head to toe in furs and cloth, but here and there bits of metal show through. I am completely out of my depth here; physical combat is for those who cannot bend reality to their will. The tallest of our attackers, and seemingly their leader judging by the quality of his sword, gives a curt nod in my direction. All I can feel is an emptiness coming from their leader.

  “Just try it witchscum, give us a reason to take your misbegotten head right now.” Rasps out from beneat
h the man’s scarf, his voice is like rocks grinding against each other. The frigid edge of his sword presses against my throat, and I do my best to not to shake. One of his companions follows his lead and raises his blade to my neck, but he watches Kearika with a keen interest.

  I turn my head fractionally, trying to bring Kearika into view, in this situation she is my only chance at surviving. Though, to tell the truth I am not that worried. Kearika is the best warrior I know, her gear enchanted by the best mage we could find: myself of course. Kearika stands at the entrance of her tent unarmored, unclothed and unarmed.

  “You came out here like that! What kind of barbarian are you?” I say rather indignantly. Sudden pressure on my throat cuts me off before I can really get going.

  “I told you to shut it!” That gravelly voice growls, his blade digging into my throat a little more.

  “As you can see, we have you outmatched. Surrender all but the clothes you brought here and we’ll let you leave, mostly alive.” The leader says with a lilting, feminine voice.

  I can see Kearika riding up on the balls of her feet, with a smile spreading across her face, a sure sign she is about to go on the offensive. Well this will certainly be a story to tell back at the Tower.

  “You interrupted something very important to me. I want you to understand I’m not feeling charitable at the moment. I’ll allow you to leave, unharmed if you simply hand over all the gold you’re carrying.” Kearika says in a voice colder than the winds.

  “Brave words for a corpse.” She says in a voice barely above whisper, her eyes narrowing behind her head wrap.

  “Kill her and see what’s in the tent.” She utters, jerking her head towards Kearika.

  The man furthest to the right of the semicircle lunges forward, the tip of his curved blade arrowing towards Kearika’s heart. Her graceful pivot drives her clenched fist straight into his throat, and his feet give way as Kearika drives an elbow into his nose. The man drops to the snow, alternating between trying to scream through a broken throat and trying to stem the rush of rapidly freezing blood. Kearika turns to me and throws a wink